


Do You Like My Stupid Hair?

by queenklu



Series: Half the Chance to Go [4]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: First Date, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-20
Updated: 2010-09-20
Packaged: 2017-10-12 01:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/119381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenklu/pseuds/queenklu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So...remember months and months ago a little fic called <a href="">Half the Chance to Go</a>? Where Jensen moved out and Jared lost his shit on the phone and then they HUGGED? PLATONICALLY (or whatever)? And then agreed to date? Well. This is that date. (FINALLY.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do You Like My Stupid Hair?

**Author's Note:**

> Title stolen from First Date by Blink 182. Because I'm cool like that.

Jared is trying not to have a heart attack, but it’s really hard when Jensen shows up looking like a million bucks and exactly at 7:00, like he’d timed it by arriving early and waiting in his car.

"Creepy ass motherfucker," gets stuck in his throat and he flushes the instant he actually gets enough air to take Jensen in. That dark emerald button up—the one that makes his eyes look so green it hurts—is Jensen’s _date_ shirt. You don’t cuss at people you’re _dating._

The panicked urge to run back inside and call his mama for dating tips is almost unbearable, and he has no real idea how he continues to stand there gaping like an idiot instead.

Jensen has his hands in his pockets, backlit with the sinking sun, just like the night Jared left that message on his phone; he’s smiling all shy and sweet, and it’s like getting punched in the chest with brass knuckles engraved with ‘YOU LIKE JENSEN, FYI.’

Of course he likes Jensen, he’s always liked Jensen, just…not like _this_. It’s like if Sadie suddenly turned into Salma Hayek.

"Hi," Jensen says just a little on the slow, lazy, I’m-a-sexy-manbeast-watch-me-roar side, which would freak Jared out even more if Jensen’s eyes weren’t laughing at Jared’s shirt while he did it. The one Jared picked out specifically so he could say, "This is what happens when you let me dress myself," but now just feels stupid and immature.

That’s Jensen’s _date_ shirt.

"You look—" they both start, and Jared makes himself laugh instead of passing out from blood loss blushing too hard.

"I know, like a pretty, pretty princess," he finishes before Jensen can. "Don’t worry, man, this was just for shock value. I’m gonna—"

"Jared, hey.” Jensen’s hand feels warm and good on his arm even if it’s keeping him from retreating into the house, but not half as much as when Jared takes in Jensen’s open, almost helpless smile. "You look good, alright?”

"You’re so full of shit," Jared stammers out over the sudden hammering in his chest. It’s a cop-out, no two ways about being chicken enough to need the ground solid under his feet again. Of course, any sense of stability gets frantically shaken all to hell when he remembers _you do not cuss at your date._ "Oh, f—I mean—"

"Don’t worry about it," Jensen laughs just a little too quickly. Then he throws out a wink probably straight out of Days. "And don’t ever change, baby, I like you just the way you are.”

"Oh my god.” Jared’s nose wrinkles so hard his eyes shut for a second. "You did not quote Bridget Jones to me on our first date."

“Cut me some slack," Jensen flushes under the hand that came up to cover his face the instant the words were out, "That line kills with the ladies."

"You using lines on me now?” Jared can feel his smile tighten at the edges, but all he can really do is hope Jensen doesn’t notice.

Yeah, he wasn’t really counting on it. Jensen’s gaze sharpens and then falls, which is really fucking good because smoldering? Jensen’s got down. "Is it working?”

"Umm…" One time Jared got heat stroke running track practice, and that felt a little like this. "Jensen, I—"

"We don’t have to do this," Jensen backs off instantly, hands held up and this expression on his face like he just hit on Megan. "Jared, seriously, I don’t—"

"—want me to feel like a girl?” Jared cuts in, voice borderline flat, "Because, dude, I think I left my balls in my other shirt."

"I." Jensen…Jensen has a hand on the back of his neck and his eyes cast low, and Jared’s gut just about cramps with a slam of empathetic embarrassment and dread.

"No, no, wait, I’m not—Jensen, just—" He is quite possibly the stupidest person alive, but against all reason his hands on Jensen’s shoulders make him feel…better. "Stay here, okay? One sec."

He lets go, steps back, and shuts the door in Jensen’s face.

And opens it again. "Hey!”

Jensen stares at him. "…Hi?”

"Sorry I made you wait, man," he says while trotting down the stairs. It’s not his fault he ends up so close to Jensen he has to touch him, has to rest his hand on Jensen’s arm and give it a reassuring _go with it_ squeeze. He can see Jensen’s Adam’s apple bob but he can _feel_ him relax a little, and yeah, this feels good, feels exciting and steady.

"You look too good for me, Jen," he says and means it, but he also means something else he hopes like hell Jensen understands.

"So full of shit," Jensen mutters under his breath, and Jared’s grin just about splits at the seams.

"Gonna give me a hint?” Jared asks with one last squeeze before letting go. He doesn’t back out of Jensen’s space, though. He doesn’t _have_ to. "’Bout where we’re going? Should I get my dancing boots?”

"Dude." Jensen pulls a face. "I wouldn’t take you dancing even if I had a death wish. I’ve seen your high kicks."

"You love my high kicks."

"Ehh," Jensen shrugs noncommittally, but his smile is that one that crinkles around his eyes, and Jared quite suddenly can’t breathe. "And I’m not telling you shit. Get your ass in the car."

Jared shakes aforementioned booty on his way; Jensen doesn’t smack it, even though Jared knows he wants to. He remembers a little belatedly that it’s because they’re on a _date._

Someday he might be able to think the word in relation to himself and Jensen without italicizing it, but not today.

~*~

"Italian?” Jared deduces from the sign— _Evangelo’s—_ and perks right the fuck up, because he is such the lasagna whore it’s not even funny. He has a list of the top five lasagnas he’s ever had on the tip of his tongue, but it’s not exactly…he’s probably already told Jensen about it.

"Italian," Jensen confirms, sliding out of the truck. Jared’s boots hit the ground before he can think to wonder if Jensen was going to get his door, but—thank god—Jensen doesn’t look awkward about it.

He saves that until they’re seated in the not-too-well-lit booth in the back, after they’ve ordered and their wine has been poured, and they still don’t have a fucking clue what to say.

“Um,” Jared says, dropping his hands to his lap when he realizes he’s been playing with his fork. “So…been here before?”

Jensen huffs out a laugh that makes Jared relax in a way that no amount of will was managing, then he pulls out his wallet.

Jared’s eyebrows shoot up. “Are we—are we leaving? God, Jensen, I’m sorry, I usually a much better date than this—“

“Calm down!” Jensen sighs, eyes rolling even though his hands aren’t quite steady. “I just—I wanted to show you something.”

“Your…driver’s license?”

Jensen growls and grabs his hand, yanking it across their perfectly placed linen-covered candle-lit table to shove a ratty piece of paper in it, forcing Jared’s fingers to curl around it before he lets go. Jared pulls his arm back carefully, not entirely sure the paper won’t fall to pieces even though Jensen seemed to manhandle it without much care. It looks like it’s been folded and refolded dozens of times, cloth-soft with fingers running over it, ink flaking away in places. Jared handles it like an ancient papyrus from that movie where that guy gets his head stuck in the bus door, and it’s…

It’s a daily.

It’s a Supernatural daily, just a scene’s worth of script printed on extra small paper to make it easier to keep on set, stuff into pockets or tape to the steering wheel of the Impala. Dean’s lines are highlighted, faded yellow on grey-white paper, but they aren’t…right.

“What is this?” He’s 99% sure this isn’t actual dialogue, but it feels… “Is this fanfiction?” he adds, raising his head with the start of a confused grin. Jensen just ducks his head at it, eyes flicking up and down like, _Read it._

Jared takes another look but it’s just dialogue, Sam and Dean going back and forth about their missing Dad—god, it’s really familiar, but it’s not clicking the way Jared instantly recognizes Jensen’s handwriting in the hasty scribbles between the text and down the margins. Jared can feel his eyes soften just looking at the mess. Jensen writes on all his scripts like this— _serious joke worried what if he doesn’t stick around? don’t let him see you’re not good enough—_ but there’s a ridiculous amount of notes for one little daily sheet. They’re even covering Sam’s lines in parts, and Jared has to squint to read—

 _good instincts. confident_ _(or good at faking it) great laugh._ And then there, down at the bottom—

 ~~ _Sam Winchester_~~ _Jared Padalekki_

“Padalekki,” Jared says, teetering on the edge of understanding. “With two ‘k’s.”

Jensen’s mouth twists, gaze drifting to where his fingers are curling around the stem of his wine glass. “They didn’t exactly spell it when they introduced you.”

Jared puts the paper down, so old and worn it feels like nothing at all under his hands. “This was.” He has to stop and take another breath. “This is the script they had us read for our callback auditions.”

“Yeah.” Jensen ducks his head, voice coming out an odd mix of relieved and curious.

Jared blinks, his own voice coming out small. “You think I have good instincts.”

Jensen’s lips quirk again, but he doesn’t say anything

"Jensen," Jared says very slowly, chest almost flat with the table he’s leaning so close, "This is a _Gilmore Girls episode."_

Jensen turns pink, but he doesn’t deny it. In fact, he’s suddenly looking straight at Jared and grinning like a big fat happy _loon_ , and Jared—Jared can barely hold whatever he’s feeling inside his skin. "Yeah…" Jensen says, and Jared waits for his hand to go to the back of his neck but it doesn’t. "That’s the other part."

"You would only know this was a Gilmore Girls episode," Jared haltingly works out, "if you’d actually _watched_ Gilmore Girls."

"Bingo, sparky." Jensen really is pink, now, getting steadily closer to matching Jared’s shirt. The figurative brass knuckles slam back into Jared’s chest, and then a couple times upside the head, only this time they’re stamped with something a bit different.

" _Why_ did you watch Gilmore Girls?" Jared blurts, and it’s not what he meant to say at all but when he tries again it comes out, "This is Luke and Lorelai’s first date."

It’s another roundhouse punch, and Jared has to sit back in his booth because.

"Oh."

"Yeah," Jensen says, eyes suddenly on his fork tines with this shy smile tugging at his lips.

Jared wants to ask him a hundred thousand things, _Did you watch it for me?_ and _How long have you wanted this?_ and _You aren’t shitting me, are you?_ But there is some rogue synapse firing in his brain and the words working their way past the knot in his stupid throat are, "If you find out you have a 12-year-old super smart daughter with an ex-girlfriend you haven’t seen in forever you sure as fuck better let me in on it and let me help figure out what the hell to do with a 12-year-old kid because I’m pretty sure that fucked them six ways from Sunday and I don’t want—"

He was kind of counting on Jensen cutting him off somewhere in all of that, but Jensen didn’t and he hasn’t, and Jared’s not sure he’s allowed to finish it. He still does, in this quiet little voice that hardly sounds like him, not the Jared that he lets other people see.

"…I don’t want to fuck this up."

"I’m not sure I could let you near a 12-year-old with that mouth," Jensen confides after a moment, but he’s holding onto Jared’s hand on top of the table and something in Jared’s chest pulls free and floats away.

Then he’s up on his feet and Jensen looks startled, wary as the toes of Jared’s boots hit the bottom of his side of the booth, but Jared has just got _so much_ in him he can’t hold it anymore, not the way he’s still holding Jensen’s hand.

"Can I hug you?"

It sounds a lot more pathetic outside his head. Which does nothing to lessen how badly he wants it.

"O…kay?" Jensen says and Jared yanks him up, has him in his arms before either of them can blink. He feels a little bad when Jensen clips his knee on the table on his way up, but not nearly bad enough to stop.

It’s a little bit like that hug when Jared came home, but a little less desperate and a little more…more? He doesn’t know, doesn’t care, it’s just—exactly right, Jensen against him like this. Jensen solid and real and they just _fit_ together.

Their waitress coughs. "I can…come back later"—she’s smirking hard enough he can hear it—"if you need a minute."

"No, we’re—Jared, get off."

"Dude, it’s the first date," Jared huffs just loud enough for Jensen to hear, and pulls away just in time to see his best friend/co-star/ _booooyfriend_ turn a lovely shade of magenta. Then it’s a flash of dimples for the waitress, and—guh—the smell of everything good and awesome about meat, tomatoes, noodles, and cheese.

"So did I ever tell you about the bar none, best damn lasagna I’ve ever had?" Jared asks, twirling his fork because he likes suspense almost as much as pasta.

"Uh, no?" Jensen says, still a little dazed. He’s kind of adorable, and Jared is allowed to think he’s adorable, which just makes it better.

"Dude, it was tragic.” Jared pauses to take a bite, savoring what is not probably in the top five but still significantly special because it’s What He Ate With Jensen On Their Date. "I was in New York, right? Staying with these friends of a family friend’s friend or whatever and they took me and Megan out for dinner at this little local place..."

It’s this long epic story that doesn’t have much of a point other than he was too fucking stuffed to eat more than two bites of the best lasagna on earth after the appetizers, salad, soup, AND pizza which all came before their main courses. But Jensen’s _laughing_ by the end of it, and it doesn’t really matter but it’s not even _at_ him.

~*~

Jared is so full. "Seriously, Jense, I’m having your food baby," he groans, sinking as low as the seatbelt allows.

"You only call me ‘Jense’ when you’re drunk or high,” Jensen says, deliberately (Jared is sure) not looking over at where Jared’s pushed his shirt up to rub at his distended belly. Jensen is kind of a prude.

“It’s a pasta high,” Jared decrees, letting his eyes slide shut. “This totally counts.”

Jensen makes that weird sort of half laugh he usually reserves for the conventions, which Jared might think about if he wasn’t in a food coma.

Dinner was great. Dinner was fantastic. He hasn’t had this much fun one-on-one with Jensen for weeks thanks to Kripke and his crazy shooting schedules. He’s kind of sad the night’s almost over—Jared back to his big empty house, Jensen to the dinky apartment Jared hasn’t even seen yet with stuff in it—but he’s got Jensen’s callback script burning a hole in the pocket of his jeans. He can’t wrap his head around it, _Jensen thinks I have good instincts. Jensen thinks I’m a good actor. Jensen thought that within minutes of starting the read-through._ He’s got big plans to curl up under the covers with Jensen’s script like a teeny bopper with their first love note; that way it won’t really be like Jensen is miles away tonight.

Jared’s not too sure he remembers how to sleep in a house without Jensen in it. Besides his folk’s place. And even then Jared’s known for a while that he falls asleep faster after a text or call from Jensen just checking in.

He’s game-planning in his head—shower, bed, script, call Jensen—when they pull up to the house, so he throws Jensen a flash of dimples, takes one more look to last him ‘til morning, then says, “Well, see you bright and early,” and stumbles his way out of the truck. Jensen looks a little unhappily confused, but he probably just forgot about the God awful call time tomorrow. Jared gives him a quick ‘what are you gonna do?’ shrug through the window, another grin, and heads inside.

He has half his buttons undone and one shoe kicked off when his phone makes the noise that means ‘text from Jensen!’ so he’s fighting with the laces with one hand when he reads it.

 _< Not even gonna let me walk you to the door. Cold, man.>_

“Oh _shit—“_

Jared nearly kills himself getting back through that door, Sadie and Harley barking themselves hoarse from the back yard because he’s making so much racket—almost knocking a framed poster off the wall and successfully stubbing his toe on the coat rack—so that he’s half-way through a curse when he fumbles open the door. He doesn’t even register for a second that Jensen is standing in the same spot he was at the beginning of their date (datedate _date)_.

“You forgot it was a date.” Jensen says it like fact, like he’s teasing, but his eyes are a little shuttered behind his smile and that just—will not do.

Jared trips right at the first step and barely catches himself before knocking them both flat on the concrete, but by that time he’s close enough to, well, to kiss Jensen, so he does. He kisses Jensen. Holy shit, he’s _kissing Jensen._

Jared cradles his head between his palms, not pushing or tilting, just to hold him, because if he’s kissing Jensen he is going to _kiss Jensen_ , damn it, with every last thing he has. His lips move hot and soft against Jensen’s in the best way he’s learned how in his life even though it feels so new and risky when it’s Jensen. When that’s Jensen’s breath on his tongue, Jensen’s skin under his fingertips, holy mother of god Jensen’s tongue in his mouth. When the hell did that happen?

His spine snaps straight against the doorframe, which means Jensen also managed to walk him backwards up three stairs without his noticing, and Jared can not for the life of him care. Jensen’s huge against him, so much bigger than Sandy or anyone he’s ever dated ( _dated! He’s dating Jensen!)_ and his kisses are fiercer, stronger, and Jared finds out quick he likes fighting for control.

“I didn’t not want to kiss you goodnight,” Jared says, voice just a little bit wrecked when they have to take a break or pass out from lack of oxygen. He can’t tear his eyes away from Jensen for a split second, can’t even think about taking his hands off him. “I just forgot I could, you know?”

"…You kind of suck at kissing,” Jensen says after what has to be The Longest Moment of Jared’s Life. But he’s wide-eyed when he says it, crinkling at the corners, and his lips are red and kiss-swollen, so Jared doesn’t hit him. “Just so you know. I kinda wish I’d stayed in the car.”

Jared gapes, but only a little before his eyes narrow into slits. “Is that my cue to say, ‘think you can do better?’ Are you actually _coaching_ me in bad—Hey!”

Jensen’s off across the lawn with the daily he stole from Jared’s back pocket before Jared even knew his hand was going there, and that’s completely unacceptable. Even more unacceptable when Jared’s so god damn full (and minus a shoe) that it throws off his equilibrium and he can’t catch the sneaky bastard to save his life and has to resort to shouting, “Lauren and Scott hated each other in real life!” which stuns Jensen just long enough to full-body tackle him.

“HA!” Jared crows down at Jensen’s startled, protesting, grass-stained, and still so unbelievably kissable face. “I win!”

“That was so low,” Jensen growls, still squirming to keep the script out of Jared’s grasp. “Take it back, you heartless fucker.”

“Oh, I’m sorry! You don’t actually _care_ about Gilmore Girls, do you?”

“Oh, like you don’t sleep with a box set of Days of Our Lives under your pillow next to the KY.”

The next time Jensen tries to flail out of his grasp Jared just goes limp, crushing him under sheer dead weight. Jensen huffs out a melodramatic groan as air gets pushed from his lungs, but Jared’s sure if Jensen was actually in any danger of getting suffocated Jared would be getting hit by now.

“So I can’t kiss,” Jared says when Jensen finally stills.

Jensen shakes his head sadly, staring up at Jared with wide-eyed earnestness that completely crumples under his grin. “Eh,” he says finally, “you—“

“—might need some more practice,” Jared choruses with him, then tacks on, “Yeah, yeah.”

Jared’s always known Jensen is beautiful and funny and attractive, but it’s always been in an abstract way. Now, though, Jensen is anything but abstract. He’s a solid shape Jared’s body is molding to, a constant and innate _goodness_ that Jared can’t believe he gets to be a part of.

“You’re making me wax poetic in my head,” Jared murmurs in a tone that might be called scolding if he wasn’t smiling half an inch from Jensen’s mouth.

“Uh-oh.”

“No, no—it’s good. I want to kiss those rosy buds of May—“

“Oh god,” Jensen growls and starts struggling again.

“And stay here laying—lying? Is it laying or lying? Jensen…”

“What— _oof!_ Jared, seriously, lose some fucking—”

“Stay here in a lateral position with you and watch the stars…”

Jared figures Jensen’s primary motive for kissing him is to shut him up, but it’s not like he minds. Especially when Jensen pulls back just enough to murmur, “It's 'lying,' you gramatically challenged—" before surging back in, licking the gasp right out of his mouth.

 

 

THE END  
(MAYBE)


End file.
